


Tale As Old As Time

by racheltuckerrr



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Be warned this is very french, Beast!Cat, Beauty!Kara, F/F, Fairy Tale Retellings, The Beauty and the Beast AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheltuckerrr/pseuds/racheltuckerrr
Summary: ...for who could ever learn to love a beast?





	Tale As Old As Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GaneWhoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaneWhoo/gifts).



> This is another great example of me not being able to restrain myself when it comes to Cat and Kara. I went to see this movie the week after it came out, intending to do nothing but enjoy myself, and I went home with a thousand headcanons and a Supergirl version cast-list of the movie in my head. I'm not entirely sure where this is gonna go, but hopefully you'll join me for the ride.

 

Once upon a time, in a hidden part of France, a striking, but unseasoned queen lived in a beautiful castle. Although, she had everything her heart desired, the queen was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. She taxed the village to fill her castle with the most beautiful objects, and her parties with the most beautiful people.

Then, one winter’s night, an unexpected intruder arrived at the castle, seeking shelter from the bitter storm. As a gift, she offered the queen a single rose. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the beautiful, vain queen sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned her not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. When the queen dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.

The queen begged for forgiveness, but it was too late, for the enchantress had seen that there was no love in her heart. As punishment, she transformed her into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there. 

Ashamed of her monstrous form, the beast concealed herself inside her castle, with a magic mirror as her only window to the outside world. As days bled into years, the queen and her servants were forgotten by the world, for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved.

But the rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until the queen’s 35th year. If she could learn to truly love another, and earn their love in return, by the time the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. If not, she would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.  

As the years passed, the queen fell into despair and lost all hope... for _who could ever learn to love a beast_?

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a beautiful morning in the small provincial town of Midveille and Kara takes a much-needed breath of fresh air as she steps out of the rustic little cottage that’s barely enough to hold two, and heads out onto the main road that will lead her right where she wants to go.

The birds are chirping happily and the small streets are already bustling with life despite the early hour, and Kara both relishes and begrudges the familiarity of it all as she dutifully greets everyone who crosses her path. Just like she would _every_ other morning.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Kara!” comes the cheery voice of the baker’s wife as she winks at Kara through the open window, in the middle of arranging the delicious, freshly-baked pastries on the small silver trays perched on the windowsill.

The sugary smell of baked goods wafts through the air towards her, making Kara’s mouth water, but she knows better than to ask for one, so she just smiles and waves politely.

“Bonjour, Madame Roulette!”

“Going to the library again, are you?” the woman asks knowingly, at the sight of yet another book clutched to Kara’s chest, and there’s just a hint of that judgement in her honey-layered voice that the young girl knows so well.

“ _Oui_ ,” Kara says simply, already knowing what comes next.

“I can’t imagine what you find so interesting about those old books, _chérie_ , but far be it from me to judge!” she coos, and Kara shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, but wisely chooses to stay silent. “Do tell that old goat to wander out from that dusty old shop of his and into civilization sometime!” Kara appreciates the apparent irony of that sentence, even if the intended joke is lost on her.

“I’ll give your regards to Monsieur Carr, Madame. Au revoir!”

Madame Roulette’s boisterous laughter echoes after Kara, even as she’s already walking past Monsieur Lane’s butcher shop, the sound of a blade cluttering on the countertop clearly audible, making a shiver run down the girl’s spine.

She turns away and looks ahead, planning to make a little detour at the small fountain in the middle of the town square where the young children always play, chasing pigeons or skipping stones; doesn’t matter, because they’re all carefree and happy. It makes Kara smile.

It’s not that she doesn’t love this town, because she does. It’s not quite home, and it never has been, but it _is_ the closest thing to it Kara’s ever had, or can remember. Ever since that stormy winter night that the townsfolk still love to speculate about, her story has been written with a different colour ink than the rest of theirs, and there isn’t much she can do about it now.

Well, maybe there is. Kara sighs as she reaches the end of the cobblestone road, where a single, slightly beaten down old building stands proudly, still, despite showing the obvious markings of having stood the test of time. The _library_.

Kara quickens her pace, a spring in her step as she reaches for the small knob and opens the door, the sound of the small bell atop it announcing her presence before her singsong voice could.

“Monsieur Carr! It’s me, Kara,” she calls out to the shopkeeper, her lilting voice echoing through the moderate space. “I came to return the last book I borrowed,” she says as she holds One Thousand and One Nights triumphantly in the air.

“Ah, back so soon?” comes the grumbling, but not unkind voice from the back that Kara has gotten so used to by now. “Don’t you do anything else with your time, girl?”

Despite the seemingly biting comment, there is no malice in his voice and Kara smiles good-naturedly, knowing full well that the old shopkeeper has no ill-will towards her, though he may very well be the only one in this town. It just so happens that he’s also quite familiar with the concept of sarcasm, which frankly, Kara finds a welcome reprieve after the endless amounts of small talk with the much simpler townspeople.

Lucas Carr shuffles up to meet her, resting his weight on the wooden cane in his left hand, expression more or less grim, but his eyes are smiling when he looks at Kara.

“Did you like it?” he asks with real interest.

“I did, thank you,” Kara gushes. “Maybe even more than The Decameron,” she muses, “and you know how much I enjoyed that!”

“I know just the thing for you, fillette,” Monsieur Carr says after a moment of thought, patting Kara on the shoulder as he goes in search of another title to gift to the only bookworm residing in Midveille.

Kara sighs from happiness, twirling around with joy, soaking up the ambiance of the place while she’s at it. This little library may not be much in the grand scheme of things, but to Kara it was the one place where she felt closest to her own history, even as it was unknown to her. Especially for that reason.

She found that by reading the stories of other people, real or imagined, she got a little bit closer to discovering her own. Even if she knew that in reality, she might never find out where she comes from, but standing here, in this little dusty room, surrounded by bookshelves on all sides, Kara felt like anything could happen. And despite knowing it should be impossible, to Kara it still felt like a little piece of home under her feet.

Monsieur Carr comes back at that moment, momentarily snapping Kara out of her thoughts, as he hands her a book.

“Here it is, another classic.”

“The _Odyssey?_ ” Kara reads, her interest clearly piqued at the strange title.

“I’m surprised you haven’t read it before,” Monsieur Carr chuckles at the girl in front of him, at how enamoured she already seems with her new acquisition. “Keep it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!”

“Bêtise! J’insiste,” he says, gently pushing Kara, and her new book towards the door, quite literally leaving no room for argument.

“Thank you so much, Monsieur Carr! _Merci!_ Au revoir!” she waves her goodbye and steps out of the little shop with a contented smile on her face, but her happiness is short-lived as she quite literally barrels into someone on her way out.

Someone, who’s obviously been waiting for her. Someone that Kara has absolutely no desire to see.

“Manuel,” she sighs heavily, more annoyed than anything else.

“Mademoiselle Kara,” he says, feigning surprise in a very unconvincing manner. “What an unexpected delight, running into you here.”

Kara schools her features, doing her best not to respond to the blatant lie, but it falls short.

“There is only one building at this end of the road, and I would be hard-pressed to believe you would ever even set foot in the library, especially after mocking me so relentlessly about coming here every day,” Kara huffs out in one breath, patience wearing excruciatingly thin. “Were you following me, Manuel?”

“Mademoiselle Kara,” he says, putting on a faux wounded expression as he makes a show of clutching his hand to his heart, “I would _never_.”

Why must men act so theatrical when they feel desperate, Kara wonders, wishing, not for the first time, that she was plainer on the outside, so the likes of him wouldn’t have to spare her even a second glance, and vice versa.

“Right,” she drawls under her breath, not believing him for a second.

“But now that I’m here, let me offer my generous assistance in walking you home, Mademoiselle,” he says, taking a bow as if there’s an audience, _always_ as if there’s an audience, and Kara almost snorts at how stupid he thinks she is.

“I am perfectly capable of walking myself home, thank you very much,” she says as she steps past him with a few quick strides, hoping that even his thick head gets the message. Dire hope that is.

“Why won’t you give me a chance, Kara?” Manuel whines, and suddenly gone are the vague gallant gestures or the polite title, his behaviour reminding Kara more of a petulant five-year-old than the grown man he’s supposed to be. “We would be so good together, can’t you see that?”

“Honestly -” Kara starts to protest, ready to list the abundance of reasons why she, in fact, absolutely cannot see that, but he cuts her off before she can get even one sentence out.

“With your beauty and my athleticism, we would make the greatest couple Midveille has ever seen! The fairest girl and the handsomest, the strongest, the most gallant -”

“It’s really not that simple,” Kara interjects, biting her mouth to keep the ‘even if _you_ are’ from escaping right along with it.

“Not to mention our children -”

“Enough!” Kara exclaims, having had enough. “No means no, didn’t anyone ever teach you that? How much plainer can I put it so that even your sluggish brain can comprehend that I don’t want anything to do with you!”

“Good day, Manuel,” she says, taking advantage of the momentary silence as he stands there dumbfounded, probably still trying to process her adjectives, and Kara seizes the opportunity to finally get rid of him and be on her way.

“Our children…” she huffs disbelievingly under her breath, quickening her steps in her haste to get back to Eliza and the small cottage at the edge of the village. “ _Á aucun prix, mon ami_.”

 

* * *

 

“So that could’ve gone better,” comes a voice from behind the stone wall that connects the little old out-of-the-way building to the rest of the town.

 Manuel lets out a guffaw of laughter as he shakes his head at his loyal sidekick, as if he just told one of his favourite jokes.

 “Oh, Winslow, mon ami, she’ll come around, you’ll see,” he says confidently as his companion comes to stand at his side. “She may be playing hard to get for now, but women can only resist me for so long. This one is no different.”

“Women, men...people really,” Winslow mumbles under his breath, only half intending to be heard. 

“What was that, good fellow?”

“I said you’re right, of course,” comes the much louder response. “Although…”

“ _What?"_  Manuel snaps, suddenly irritated. “Do you doubt my ability to seduce any female?”

“I…”

“Wouldn’t you say I’m the handsomest, the strongest, the most gallant -”

“Yes, of course, Manuel. Forgive me for doubting you for even a second! You know I believe you are all that and more.”

Manuel puffs his chest like a peacock in heat at the unfiltered praise, the words being exactly what he wanted to hear.

“However,” Winslow continues, only slightly wincing as he does so. “Mademoiselle Kara is a peculiar young woman, what with her rather oddly complex nature and...unique, familial background,” he says, referring to the night that changed the town’s life forever, in one way or another. ”Not to mention stubborn as a mule, that one. She might not be so easily convinced...which, of course, is not to say that has anything to do with you -”

“Oh, Winslow,” Manuel sighs exasperatedly, as if talking about a minor inconvenience in the weather. “Things were so much easier in the war, when I could have my pick of any widow for the day; no wooing, no fuss. Simpler times,” he says as he pats his friend on the back.

“Whatever you say, Manuel.”

 

* * *

 

“Eliza, I’m home!” Kara shouts as she opens the heavy wooden door that leads into the little cottage, announcing her presence to the only other person who lives there. 

“In here, sweetheart,” calls the familiar voice of the woman Kara considers to be her only family, even if they aren’t bound by blood.

Eliza Danvers took her in when no one else would, and for that Kara will forever be grateful to her. The eccentric, delusional widow, as she was so unkindly dubbed by the townsfolk after her husband’s death, was the only soul willing to take in the strange child so ruthlessly left out in the cold on the middle of the town square on that fateful winter’s night.

Since then, she’s been as much Kara’s mother as she could be, without that innate, natural connection that only biology could provide. And though Kara never could bring herself to call the woman that, she really did think of Eliza as a mother. Just as she knew the woman considered Kara her daughter.

She had told her so many times, on those nights when she recalled her past life with her late husband and told Kara of their strong desire to have a child together. Eliza always got that wistful look in her eyes when she talked about that, and though she was still saddened by the realization that it wasn’t to be her fate with Jeremiah, she never failed to assure Kara that she was in no way to think of herself as a mere consolation prize.

“You are my daughter, plain and simple,” Eliza always said. “You and me, Kara. Our very own little patchwork family.”

Kara thought it fit them well. And, considering the similarities between Eliza and herself in outward appearance, it wasn’t that hard for Kara to, on occasion, fool herself into believing that her life was at least somewhat normal.

 _Normal_.

Kara used to cling to that notion with the desperation of a child who had the rug swept out from under her feet one too many times in her relatively short life, which wasn’t actually far from the truth.

Though Kara had never met the late Jeremiah Danvers, she’d spent many a night with the woman who was the closest thing to a mother Kara would ever have, having long conversations about the kind of man her husband had been, before the plague took him away.

As an inventor, his profession had taken him to many beautiful places all around France, and even Europe, until he finally decided to settle down in this small provincial town that he came to love so much, along with the woman in it who stole his heart at first glance. Eliza brushed away a few errant tears as she recalled the animosity the townsfolk had always felt towards the man she married, just for being an outsider, and they never did manage to treat him as anything more than an outcast with an odd line of work.

It was a shame she never got a chance to meet him, because it seemed to Kara that they would have gotten along quite well, given that she herself was someone who never quite managed to fit in either, whatever the reason.

“So, is it almost finished?” Kara asks with great interest, snapping out of her sombre thoughts as she carefully approaches the easel, kissing the blonde woman’s cheek when she stands behind her to admire the painting.

It’s a striking portrait of the setting sun as it disappears over the valley behind the Danvers’ residence, casting the sky in a brilliant orange glow, and the otherwise forest green fields a much paler, yellowish pastel green shade.

It’s already Kara’s favourite piece of her mother’s yet, and her heart is aching at the thought of having to part with it when Eliza takes it to the fair the next day. She just knew it would be an instant success, despite their cursed luck with sales lately, but Kara is sure just by looking at it now that this new painting is a winner.

It’s in no way an easy circumstance, having to support a household of two people on an artist’s salary, and Eliza did occasionally tinker at her late husband’s workbench, trying her hand at his old plans for inventions, but rarely with any kind of a satisfactory result. That was his domain, not hers, she’s told Kara several times over the years.

“I don’t know, Kara, do you really think we can make the sell this time?” Eliza questions, cocking her head to the side as she studies her work with a critical eye. “If not, we really are going to be in trouble. Harvest isn’t for two more months and we have to make a living by ourselves until then.”

“I have faith in your creations, Eliza,” Kara says kindly, her trust not wavering for a second. “You should too.”

Mother and daughter smile softly at one another as Eliza finishes the last touches on her painting.

All there’s left to do is to go and try her luck at the fair tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mostly making this up as I go and definitely using bits and pieces of both movies, so familiar phrases _will_ pop up, but don't worry I already have a few of my own twists on the whole thing in mind. Thoughts?
> 
> /new tumblr url: catherinegrant


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